Joyce Pellino Crane: Hoping for a miracle

Joyce Pellino Crane

Friday

Jul 30, 2010 at 12:01 AMJul 30, 2010 at 2:58 AM

I repotted the spider plant about 10 days ago and it was immediately obvious that I couldn’t save it. Still, I’ve remained hopeful, putting it in a shaded corner of the deck and continuing to water it. I know I should give up the fight, but I’m not ready.

I repotted the spider plant about 10 days ago and it was immediately obvious that I couldn’t save it.

Still, I’ve remained hopeful, putting it in a shaded corner of the deck and continuing to water it.

I know I should give up the fight, but I’m not ready.

The plant has been with me since my elder son, Christopher, presented it as a gift during his kindergarten year — probably for Mother’s Day. That was almost 15 years ago.

Despite my ineptitude for growing anything green, and laziness for nurturing plant life, I had managed to keep it alive all these years. I secretly viewed it as a connection to my son and a metaphor for my life — never fully thriving but getting by.

That perception was reinforced one day years ago when I visited the home of an acquaintance and saw the spider plant her son had given her. Corey was two years younger than Christopher, but he had had the same kindergarten teacher and so came home with the same plant for his mother two years later.

His mother, Linda, was a deeply religious person who faithfully attended church services and went to Bible study each week. She invited me more than once to participate in her activities and I tried to muster the desire. I really did. I figured if faith could give me the same inner glow and outward beauty that she projected, then I wanted a piece of that action. Despite my best intentions, however, I never followed through and she eventually stopped inviting me.

As I stood at her front door that day peering at the sprouting spider plant whose multiple offshoots were like a symphonic tribute, I realized that something lovely was happening inside this home. The plant embodied her spirit and her brightness. It was a climbing monster, green and robust. Nothing like the pallid, fledgling thing I had inside my home, desperately in need of fertilizer and fresh soil, but never getting it.

Several years later my family moved and I placed the stagnant plant in a bathroom in our new home, near the window. The moisture inside the room benefited the plant and it miraculously sprouted an offshoot. I took it to mean that my life was finally starting to bloom. After all, why else would this plant that had waited so patiently for the right conditions, start to burst forth now? Wasn’t this finally my moment for happiness?

I kept my eye on the plant marveling at how well it was doing — telling no one how uplifted and hopeful I felt by its growth. Then one day I went to water it and saw the offshoot lying on the floor. It had somehow broken off. I put the shoot in water but the roots didn’t grow. Although the plant survived for several more years, it never again sprouted.

So why can’t I give it up? The plant has died and my son has grown. He is sprouting wings and leaving me as quickly as he can.

The plant secretly symbolized my life and my connection to him for so many years, that letting it go means letting him go. I don’t want this phase of motherhood to end just yet. I’m hoping for a miracle.

Perhaps tomorrow there will be a new shoot, a tiny green sprout of foliage, a root that I can see. Perhaps something wonderful is happening under that rich, black soil and all I need is to wait one more day—one more day to see if my life has taken root. One more day to see if my offshoot will grow his own roots. One more day for the dim light inside me to catch a spark and glow like an ember that lights his journey away from me.

Joyce Pellino Crane is editor of the Westford Eagle in Westford, Mass. She can be reached at jcrane@cnc.com.